Nothing
by captainswanoholic
Summary: This fic, set in 5x08: Nimue, is about what goes through Emma's head when Nimue calls her nothing. (This is my first fic, like ever, so please tell me what you think!)


**Disclaimer: I do not own the show or any of the characters. If I did, Killybear would still be alive and Captain Swan would have already had tacos. p.s. I make Neal seem really terrible in this and if you like Neal I am so sorry because, tbh, I like him too I just kinda got carried away and wanted Emma's life to seem as bad as possible. This is my first fic so...Enjoy!**

I could feel it in the deepest part of my soul, the darkness pushing its way into my veins, every fibre of my being set aflame by its burning desire to take control of my heart. It's not far from it. The voice in my head only gets louder, until it's all I can hear. I try to find solace, comfort but there's nothing I can do to stop the shouting. The shouting of dark and light, going back and forth, yelling at one another and myself. Each shout making me feel crazier and crazier, making my grip holding onto the light slip ever so slightly. I grab the necklace around my neck, holding it like my life depends on it, which isn't far from the truth. It's the only connection I have to _him_ right now, the only physical form of light I have to grasp onto. It's not enough, I can feel the darkness winning. I can feel the life slipping away from the man whose neck is being strangled by my shaky hand. And then the darkness shouts one last time, "Kill him! Don't go back to being nothing!"

I closed my eyes, trying to push away the voices, and suddenly I was a little girl again. I could practically taste the stale air of those crumby foster homes I was placed in. I had a tendency to run from homes. Why would I stay when I'd just be thrown out eventually? Even when I was a baby no one wanted me. I had a real family, until I was three, but even then I wasn't enough. As soon as they were able to have a baby of their own they sent me right back into the system. How was I supposed to believe I'd ever be enough, I'd ever amount to something more, when I was tossed aside _twice_ by age three. What made it worse was that girls who looked like me usually get adopted right away, and I didn't even get adopted for more than a couple months. Blonde, female, nothing was wrong with me. And not one person wanted me. Ever. The people who work at the homes don't even care about you. All they did for me was give me false hope. They constantly told me I'd get adopted eventually and it was all a lie.

One of the many foster moms I had always told me that. One day while I was passing her corridor I heard her say my name to someone on the phone and my curiosity peeked. "She's a teenager. If nobody wanted her as a child why in God's name would they want her now? I mean, look at her. She's going to amount to _nothing_!" she laughed callously.

I stood there quietly, feet glued to the floorboards, wrapping my arms tightly around myself in a hug. My whole body felt numb. I hadn't realized I was crying until a sob escaped my lips, cheeks streamed with tears. I couldn't stop replaying her words. It was like a voice in my head, telling me what I'd always thought. _Nothing, nothing, nothing._ But thinking it yourself and hearing someone else say it are two very different things. Suddenly I began to think of everyone else that's probably said it, I just wasn't there to hear it. How stupid I was to believe her when she told me I would get adopted and have a future. I didn't need her, I didn't need anyone.

I ran from the foster home that night and never saw that horrid woman again.

I was the lost little girl that amounted to _nothing_.

Neal, my first love, found me lying against his apartment door, drunk and in need of comfort. He was a couple years older than me, I was seventeen at the time. He yanked open the door, and dragged me into his apartment, insisting that I shouldn't drink alone. I obliged, elated with the fact that he cared enough to invite me into his home. I can't even recall the number of times that scenario had taken place. Me, showing up to his apartment, a drunken mess and him, inviting me inside, showing me how much he loves me. At least that's what I thought he was doing. Love and lust are two very different things but when you're seventeen and have never known how it feels to be wanted, you can't tell the difference. I was just happy to have someone tell me they love me and whisper sweet nothings in my ear.

He gave me long nights of talking and lingering glances, of too much contact for my liking but not enough confidence to stop it. I misunderstood his urgency for my body as love. I thought he was trying to help me with my problem when in reality I was helping him with his. His problem of _not_ having alcohol. Everytime he pulled the bottle of amber liquid out of my shaky grasp, saying I don't need it, he was really just keeping it for himself. I was just a child, an ignorant child, who gave herself away to some man because I thought he cared. How stupid of me. I was a way for him to get drunk, whether it was on my body or the alcohol. He told me he was trying to help me and I believed him. If that were true I wouldn't have gone to jail for his crimes. I wouldn't have been left to have his child in prison. Left alone. I opened up to him and he _left_. Just like everyone else in my life. He showed me that I really was _nothing_. My throat used to burn with alcohol, now it burns with his name. The sound of it alone makes my eyes swell up and my throat run dry. It causes a burning sensation much stronger than any whiskey I'd ever had.

I gave birth to _his_ son nine months later, still locked away. They had my foot handcuffed to the hospital bed. _As if I'd try to run_. I remember the pain of giving birth but it didn't even come close to the pain of giving him away. God, I didn't even want to know the gender but the damned doctor told me, trying to get me to cave, to keep him. "It's a boy," he exclaimed. "Are you sure you don't want to hold him?"

How _cruel_. As if knowing that I'd given birth to a boy would suddenly make me believe that _I_ , the woman who was a disgrace, a whore, _nothing_ , could ever raise a child properly. Could ever give him the life he deserved. I couldn't even _look_ at him. I never got to hold him in my arms for I knew it would be much too painful and I didn't want to tarnish something so _pure_ with my touch. I couldn't. I needed to give that little bundle of joy his _best_ chance. And I knew that wasn't with me. "No," I choked on a sob, "I can't be a mother."

Oh, how wrong I was. It wasn't until ten years later that I got to see him, hold him for the first time. He was a bright eyed little boy that believed in absolutely everything. Henry. He brought me to his home. He brought _me_ home. It may have taken me quite a lot of time to believe that I could have a home but he didn't stop until I did. I think it was when he sacrificed himself for me that I started to believe that maybe he was right, maybe I was something more than _nothing_. He brought me back to my family. He told me he was bringing me back to break a curse but, really, he was bringing me home. His undeniable love for me, and mine for him, was strong enough to break the curse and my doubt in myself.

It took me quite a while to forgive my parents. I was always haunted with the fact that, even though it was in their best interest, they abandoned me. They sent me through some portal to a land without magic so I wouldn't be cursed like them but, which curse is worse? Actually being cursed or not being with them for the first twenty-eight years of my life. It made me feel worthless at first and I took to calling them by their first names. But every chance they got they tried to show me how special I was to them. How hard it was for them to give me up but I never really believed it until I saw the room that was supposed to be my nursery. It was awfully big, with a beautiful, hand-carved, wooden crib and a twinkling unicorn mobile hanging above it. There were velvet drapes encircling a glass window that took up half a wall, with a perfect view of the sea. Toys and dresses collecting dust in the long lost cabinets. I was supposed to be a princess. And they made sure I would've gotten it all, just to have it ripped away from them. It all hit me then, they never _wanted_ to give me up. They had no other choice. They wanted to watch me grow up, teach me how to dance, sword fight, all of it. It made it even more clear when I saw the look of longing in their eyes as they entered the room. The unshed tears, the unheard cries. They wanted me. They _still_ want me. I am worth so much more than I thought.

I call them 'mom' and 'dad' now.

And then there was _him_. Killian. The one man who never, ever, gave up on me. Who fought for me day in and day out. The man who broke down my walls, right into my heart. The necklace hung around my neck, digging into my skin as a reminder of what I am, the one that I've been grasping onto, holds his ring on it. It wasn't a proposal, but a promise. A promise for a future. A future I could have if I passed this test, if I let the light win. He always believed in me, showed me that, to some people, I'm everything. I never thought it could be possible - _Wait, if you're afraid of losing your happy ending that means you've found it. What is it?_ \- but he proved it to me in so many ways - _Don't you know, Emma? It's you._ The deep sincerity in his strangled voice left me utterly speechless. He wasn't lying. I never thought that I, the lost little girl that didn't think she'd amount to anything, could ever be someone's happy ending, could ever be the reason for someone's happiness. I couldn't keep in the stray tear that slipped down my flushed cheeks at his words. I didn't even know what to say, so I chose to say nothing. I'd always thought actions spoke louder than words so, instead, I chose to act, cupping his face with both my hands and pulling it down to mine until our lips touched. I poured all of my emotions into the kiss, hoping he'd understand everything I couldn't form into words. Just thinking of that special moment shared between us had me tightening my grasp on his ring.

I had spent years of my life being told I was nothing. And I believed it. But time and time again I found out that some people believed otherwise. The ones that matter. My parents, my son, Killian. Everyone in the town. They showed me how much I really meant. How much I was worth. And, given some time, I began to believe it myself.

It was a growl that came out of somewhere truly deep inside me - the darkness dug in too deep. It was my primal instinct to fight what I used to be told, what I used to believe. I spent my whole life trying to prove everyone wrong - that I _was_ something. And after I have come so far, finally accepted my worth, I could _not_ let her tell me who _I_ am. I decided to take my own advice for once - _People are going to tell you who you are your whole life, you just gotta punch back and say 'no, this is who I am.'_ \- and punch back. I started listening to the voice deep inside of my heart - _You want people to look at you differently? Make them._ \- the one I've been struggling to hold onto since the darkness came into my life. I pushed through my insecurities and fears, released the man from my grasp, and growled the eight words I've wanted to scream my whole life:

"I am not nothing! I was never nothing!"


End file.
